Condemned
by Min Daae
Summary: Fenris tells his side of the story. What he thinks about his struggle to maintain himself and not lose himself to the evil that surrounds him, and why he went to the White Witch. Formerly To See in a Different Light. R&R? COMPLETE.
1. In Which There Is A Beginning

The first thing I should probably get straight is that my name is not Fenris. Nor is it Morgrim, or any other variations I have heard, and you have certainly also heard. My name is Rashakan. I took the name Fenris when I went into the Witch's service.

Hold the torches until I can explain a bit more. You might change your mind. I belonged to a pack in Ettinsmoor, just to the east of the lake that would become the witch's castle. It was a small pack, struggling to survive. We learned to be harsh during the winters, showing no mercy to any beast, talking or not. We used to live further south, in the Western Wood, but we were driven north by the angry fauns and creatures that we preyed on. It was not a good life in Ettinsmoor. Several of us were killed by hunting giants, and more by fauns that preyed on us even there, seeking vengeance for those we had killed in hunger.

We learned to kill anything that approached us, for survival. We drew closer and closer to being killing beasts with no empathy or compassion, only the need to kill to survive, as our pack dwindled. I suppose it was that that gave us to the White Witch – how she found us.

She had been hunting for us wolves and other creatures that could be brought to see her way, and though I have suspicions, I am not sure of anything. Maybe the White Witch had something to do with the deaths of my pack mates. If so, she deserves the death she got a hundred times over. By the time she found my pack, it was only me and my brother, and his mate, and we were all starving, on the verge of death. Just to the south of us lay a land of bounty and rich food, but we could not touch it for fear of dying on the faun's arrows. The first warning we had of her approach was the ringing of sleigh bells, but we were too weak to fight. We lay down in the snow and hoped that they would not see us, but the sleigh stopped, and we heard footsteps.

"Her Majesty, Queen of Narnia and Empress of the Lone Islands, wishes an audience with you." The voice was gravely and rough, the voice of a dwarf. I looked up and glared him in the eyes without blinking. Finally he looked down.

"Queen? I have heard of no queen," said my brother sharply. He was still proud, even with his ribs jutting from his sides and his coat hanging off his bones. "What does she wish to speak about?"

The dwarf opened his mouth, but a voice, both quiet and silky and at once very icy, spoke from the sleigh. "I will speak now." There was a rustle of cloth and footsteps on snow, and I looked up to see the tallest human I had ever seen. Her face was cold and hard, beautiful, in an icy sort of human way. She wore a dress that trailed behind her in the snow and was cut to show an expanse of white skin. Not pale, but _white. _

"Greetings, wolves," she said. "I am Queen of Narnia, though my creed has not spread north…yet. I wish to enlist your aid as my guards – for, Queens have many enemies, and wolves would be powerful allies to have with me if someone were to attack me."

"Why would you want us?" my brother snarled. I glared at him – this woman was offering us a chance at life – why was he refusing that offer? "We are dying, starving, and have been for years. Why have you not approached us before now? Why have you let us die out, let fauns kill us by the hundreds, if you wanted us as allies?"

A look of icy anger crossed the Queen's face and was gone so quickly that I was sure I had imagined it. My hackles raised involuntarily. I forced myself to relax. When she spoke again, her voice was utterly calm, so much so that I was sure I had imagined the anger.

"I have only recently heard about this unfortunate destruction of your kind. I offer you not only a place to live and eat, but safety from your enemies. What do you say? All you have to do is guard me from attack, and I will keep you and your pack mates safe."

My brother opened his mouth, but I beat him to it. "Yes," I said. "We accept your offer gladly, your Majesty. We will serve you, in return for you keeping us safe and well. Will you take us to your palace?"

My brother glared at me, but I ignored him. I was not going to let this chance at life pass.

"Thank you," she said. "I see that you are tired, and weak. You may ride in my sleigh. All of you." Then she swept back to the sleigh and sat down without looking back. As we followed her, my brother trotted up beside me.

"What do you think you're doing? You don't know anything about her! She could be evil, she could be plotting to kill us…she's human, and humans have always hated us. You of all wolves should know that." I had lost a mate to hunting humans only a year ago. It still hurt to think about her, and I hated my brother for bringing it up.

"Would you rather die here?" I hissed angrily. "Whether or not she is evil, if we stay here we will die for certain! At least if we go to her we have a chance, however small. I will not have you ruin that. I will not let you kill all of us because you are afraid to trust one human!" I broke into a run after the witch, but a niggling doubt wormed in my brain that my brother might be right. _How bad can she be if she is offering us a chance to live? _I thought firmly. _How evil can she be? _

However, as I leaped into the sleigh, I had a feeling that it could be very bad indeed.


	2. In Which Ties Are Broken

_A/N: Because I forgot to do this – I do not own Narnia. Get over it. Jasonc65 and Mousewolf, thanks for the reviews. More! More! Please. Yeah. Enjoy this. I hope. Anyway:_

The sleigh bells rang as the reindeer pulled us along, but there was no joy in the sound. It was as icy as the rest of the world. This winter seemed to be dragging on, impossibly long, and colder than any that Narnia had suffered in my few years of living. My brother lay next to me, tense and wary, his mate shivering by his side. We were all covered in white, soft furs, and I was warm and hopeful for the first time since my pack had been driven into Ettinsmoor.

The Queen was silent for quite a time as we rode East. It was rather hard to think with the enticing scent of the reindeer ahead floating in my nostrils, but I did my best to ignore it. After all, it would hardly be a good thank you for the Queen's graceful hospitality if I killed the creatures that drew her sleigh. At last she began to speak to me, ignoring my brother. He was a litter older, and I suddenly felt very proud that it was me the Queen was speaking to, and not my perfect older brother. I am ashamed to say that it made me feel very self-important and smug.

"Tell me about your pack, Master Wolf."

"Rashakan, if it pleases your majesty." I could smell my brother's shame for my obsequious attitude. Wolves never lowered themselves, not for humans or any other animal, unless it were an alpha wolf. Dignity was an ingrained part of a wolf's nature. But this desire to please the Queen, as if I were some…_dog…_overruled even that basic part of my wolfdom. Already I was falling under her spell – though there was no magic in this spell, only charisma and the power of persuasion.

"Rashakan, then," said the Queen softly. "How did you come to live in Ettinsmoor? What has befallen the others?"

I should have suspected something, then. There was no reason she could have known that there had been others, but I saw nothing, of course. I am older now, and it is easier to see things when you are not part of them. "The fauns drove us out, your Majesty," I said bitterly. "They hated us…because…because we hunted prey that they thought should be theirs." The queen nodded sympathetically, and I went on. "The pack…in Ettinsmoor, we were killed by the fauns, or giants, or starvation. My brother and his mate, and me, are all that's left."

"It is a pity," said the Queen in that icy voice of hers, without a trace of pity. I didn't really notice. "That some cannot learn tolerance. Me, for example. There has been no Queen in Narnia for thousands of years, and no claimants for the throne, and I have been declared Queen by my supporters. And just because I have giant blood, they seek to replace me with some humans that have not yet come to Narnia! They cry, "Witch!" and try to kill me. That is why I need you – to protect me."

"I will, with all my heart," I said solemnly. "My teeth and howl are yours, my Queen." I smelled my brother's shock. That was one of the strongest promises a wolf could make. I did not look at him.

The Queen, for some reason, smelled smug. "I am glad to hear of your loyalty, Rashakan. Others are not so loyal to me. I must keep those rare few as close to me as I can. I believe that you may become one of my most trusted companions, Rashakan."

I puffed up with pride at this much desired attention. "My Queen, I am unworthy of such praise. Let me prove your words with actions ere you judge me."

"Of course, Rashakan. You will have many chances to prove yourself, I am certain." She hesitated, then drew me closer to whisper in my ear. "I know this may be painful to hear, but I do not think that your brother is truly loyal to me. You must not trust him, or tell him of things that I speak unto you. I fear that he may prove to be an enemy to me and my rule."

I nodded eagerly, accepting her words that they would mean my favor over my brother. "Of course, my Queen. I will do as you say. My brother is too proud and will not accept your rule easily."

"Thank you, Rashakan," said the Queen. "I can already see that you will be a worthy companion to me."

"You honor me, my Queen," I said, feeling very proud that she saw me as a worthy guard. We traveled for a long way in silence, but then the Queen stood and pointed between two hills.

"There," she said. "There is my house. We shall soon be there, and you will have food, and warmth. Then I shall instruct you further in your duties." Only moments later we were sliding across a frozen lake, and then gigantic ice doors were closing behind us. The dwarf jumped down and began unhitching the reindeer and leading them off. "My palace," said the Queen, gesturing around us.

Everything was made of ice, carved into spirals and shapes, but I could sense the stone deep beneath my paws as I jumped down. It was fine, and beautiful, suitable for a great Queen. A throne, all spirals of ice and draped with ermine furs, stood at the far end of the hall. The Queen climbed gracefully down from the sleigh and clapped her hands. Another dwarf appeared. "Bring my favored guests fine meats. And be quick about it." The dwarf hurried off into the maze of the icy corridors. My eyes tried to follow him, but it was as if he was swallowed by the palace. Moments later, I could no longer see him.

"Are all your servants dwarfs?" asked my brother, a touch of scorn in his voice. The Queen glanced at him, her gaze suddenly considering.

"No," she said. "There are others. Do you dislike dwarves?" her eyes were intent, trained on his, and he returned her gaze directly.

"Yes," said my brother coldly. "They are too much like humans for me to be easy with them."

"Yes," said the queen. "But they do make fine servants."

"Not all creatures are meant for servitude," said my brother coolly.

"Sometimes it is necessary for survival."

"Sometimes. But often there is another way."

"Often the other way is dangerous, and difficult. Sometimes servitude is the better way."

"Servitude is never a better way."

"We all must bend ourselves sometime," said the Queen coldly. "There is no other choice."

My brother shook his head, but said nothing in response. I looked from one to the other, sensing that there was something beneath their words. I shook my head and looked at the Queen. "You said you would tell us more of our duties, my Queen?"

"You, Rashakan, shall stay by my side and guard me from attack – also insuring that visitors to my castle mean me no harm and bringing in those that oppose me or threaten my rule. And you…"

"Takire," said my brother.

"Takire," said the Queen. "Will be joining the wolves I have gathered as their leader on scouting expeditions across Narnia. Is this well with both of you?" I nodded eagerly, and my brother doubtfully. "All right," said the Queen. "You may go, Takire. I wish to speak to your brother for a moment." Takire padded out of the room, and the Queen beckoned to me after she swept over to her throne and sat down.

"Rashakan…I have told my subjects that serve me that they should take new names…to protect your identity and family…and also, because when you are in service to me, all bonds are gone. You serve only me, and to symbolize this, you need to become a different being, and thus take a different name. One that I will choose, one suitable for a loyal guardian of a Queen. Perhaps a name from legend…? Yes…how about Fenris."

I hesitated. I was not sure that I liked this change. It felt as though I were losing myself…but I didn't want to lose the Queen's favor. "Who is he?"

"A great hero…a bold wolf warrior of ancient legend far to the Northern Snows. A wolf of great strength. A good name, as you will be my warrior and guardian. Your brother can be Skoll, a great hunter of Northern Legend. Fenris is a fine name…a bold name for a great wolf." She smiled coldly at me.

"Fenris is a fine name," I said at last. "I will become Fenris, to serve my Queen."

"Come here, then, and swear to me." I padded up to the throne, where the Queen laid her white hand on my head. I shivered briefly at her cold touch, but forced myself to stay still until she removed it with a small smile.

"This wolf comes before me to serve me. Rashakan, will you serve well and faithfully, without regret or pause, until you die?"

"Yes," I said, after a brief hesitation. "I will."

"This wolf comes before me to honor me. Rashakan, do you accept me as your Queen, serving no other, now and forever?"

"I do." I said without pause this time.

"This wolf comes before me to guard me. Rashakan, do you swear to put my life before your own, to lay down your life before mine, and never to run if I am in danger?"

"I do, my Queen."

"Then kneel, and speak these words." I bowed as best as I could, lowering my head. "I serve only the Queen and swear to guard and protect her…"

"I serve only the Queen and swear to guard and protect her…"

"Her life before mine, her safety before mine, her whim before mine…"

I hesitated briefly, then repeated the words.

"Until my last breath leaves my body."

I repeated that carefully. I felt something wind around me and then sink into my fur with a cold touch of ice. I shivered.

"Are you suitable?" the Queen asked, and I could feel her eyes on my head.

"Yes, My Queen. I believe that I am suitable."

"You may stand." I stood, and the Queen touched my head, taking it in both hands this time. "You are mine, forever, bound to me in flesh and bone, in life and death, until I choose to release you. You are washed clean of Rashakan and what you were before this moment. You come before me nameless and newborn, and I baptize you anew. You are now called Fenris. Forget all ties and bonds you had before now. You belong to me."

She drew a line down my nose with her finger, and I yelped as pain followed her touch, a burning. She smiled and drew back her finger. "You are marked as mine, now. Go and serve me, Fenris."

I turned, feeling a shiver run through my bones. I looked in the clear ice of the walls and saw a long, black line, an arrowhead, burned into the skin of my nose. I shuddered, and continued padding out the way my brother had gone, but as I left I heard soft laughter from the Queen, and as I pricked my ears, I thought I heard, "Yes, you are suitable. Very suitable indeed, Fenris. And you belong to me, now."

I sped up my gate and hurried out of the throne room, deeper into the palace, but it seemed that the Queen's laughter followed me even there.

_A/N: Just a small note on origins of names. Fenris is a Norse Legend of a Wolf, the son of the Trickster Loki, who was prophecied to destroy the gods, so they bound him with a rope made_ _from the the footstep of a cat; the roots of a mountain; a woman's beard; the breath of fishes; the sinews of a bear; and a bird's spittle. At the end of theworld, Ragnarok, he would break freeand wreak havoc on the world, killingOdin and killed byOdin's son. He is also known as Fenrir._

_Skoll was the wolf set to hunt the sunat the beginning of the world, because thesun's chariot driver wedded a human.At Ragnarok, he will swallow the sun.Yeah, I like stuff like that._

_As usual, if you hate it, love it, really don't care, let me know...please...-begs for reviews-_


	3. In Which Tension Rises

I padded down the icy halls, following the remnants of my brother's scent that hung in the air, as his paws made no imprint on the floor. At last I rounded a corner and found my brother standing rigidly in front of a large group of wolves, his posture annoyed and angry. Another wolf, nearly as large as my brother was, his lips pulled back in a snarl, stood before him, backed by the group of wolves that stood tensely behind him. Their expressions ranged from angry to worried to frightened, but all of their hackles were raised and their postures demonstrating their readiness to fight. A stench of hostility wafted through the whole room.

I wrinkled my nose and paced forward to stand at my brother's side, looking uneasily at the horde of hostile wolves before me. The wolf in front turned his gaze on me, and his eyes flickered to the long stripe down my nose, burned darkly into my skin. I noticed that he had one, too, but his was much shorter and slimmer than mine. I drew myself up proudly, sensing that now the other wolf was uneasy. His posture did not change one whit, though.

"The queen has sworn me into her service. I am to be the foremost of the Queen's guards, and my brother here will lead those who scout on expeditions."

The other wolf hesitated, his fear scent growing, but his aggressive stance still did not change. "Do we have proof of this?" he asked after a brief glance at the burn on my head.

It was my turn to hesitate this time, but I thought quickly. It was a bluff, but I had a guess about the source of this wolf's fear. "You'll just have to trust my word," I said coolly. "Unless, of course, you would rather go ask the Queen yourself?"

It was a bluff, as I said, but it worked. The wolf shuddered and lowered his aggressive stance almost immediately. "Yes, of course. There will be no need for that. How are you called?"

"I am Fenris," I said proudly, and before my brother could speak, I added, "And my brother is called Skoll." I could feel his heated gaze on my back, but I ignored it. It was my chance to be superior to him, petty as that was, and I wasn't going to waste any of it.

The wolf before me glanced at the others. There were a few murmurs. "An interesting name," he said softly. "I wonder if you can live up to it?" I did not think I was supposed to hear, as a moment later he raised his voice to a normal level. "I am called Romulus. I am also a guard of the queen."

I nodded. "I am sure that your experience will be useful to me."

He was watching me warily, as if expecting me to attack at any moment. I fought the urge to frown, and carefully kept my face blank. "You may go to wherever you must. I will speak with you later."

He nodded, his brows furrowed, then briefly shook his head and turned, his tail swaying slightly as he exited the room. My brother whirled on me.

"What were you thinking, swearing to _her?_ And what's all this about me leading the expeditions? Rashasha, you're acting like a little ass."

I bristled angrily. In Wolfish, the suffix –sha implied small, young, and usually foolish, as in a puppy. Rashasha had been his pet name for me when I was younger, and it stung to be reminded of his older age. His posture was challengingly dominant, and I should have submitted to him, as he was my brother, older, and stronger. But I had the advantage of the queen behind me, and I was not going to let my brother best me in this. I raised my muzzle so that it was higher than his – that was my advantage, I was taller, more leggy – and lifted my tail curled aggressively over my back, my legs stiff and my fur rising, the position for a younger wolf challenging an alpha. "My name is Fenris, Tadaisha," I said fiercely. His eyes narrowed at my jibe – in Wolfish, daisha meant an alpha that was old and feeble, ready to give up the position to another. "I will not let you throw away our chance at life because the Queen favors me over you, and you cannot stand not to be the best in all things."

"You go too far, _Fenris,_" my brother growled. "It is a pity that this Witch has corrupted you already."

"Do not speak badly of the Queen!" I snarled, my teeth bared. My brother flinched backwards, and I am sure now that my eyes gleamed with the madness of the spell that the Queen had laid on me. I quivered with rage, yearning to attack, to sink my teeth into his traitorous throat… but something within me still struggled against the urge, struggled to remain myself and I managed to stay still.

It was fortunate, though, that my brother shook his head, saying, "You are a fool, Fenris. A bull-headed fool." Then he turned and followed the way the other wolves had gone.

I let out a deep breath and shivered slightly as the fiery anger that had gripped my heart lessened. I swished my tail back and forth uncertainly and looked up toward the great hall for a moment. Then I shook my head and followed my brother. I soon entered a large chamber where the wolves were already settling themselves for the night. I curled up on the icy floor, my thick fur protecting me from most of the cold. I tucked my head under my bushy tail and closed my eyes sleepily. My last waking thought was a question. _Why would the wolves be afraid of the Queen?_


	4. In Which There Is a Price of Failure

I was woken by a soft bark in my ear.

I started awake, looking around, but I did not find the wolf that had woken me. To my surprise, I found that the room was still dark, though all of the wolves were rising, shaking the frost off of their fur. I did the same, while observing that the wolves were watching me warily, and there was a wide radius around me, though the room was small. My breath misted on the air, clouding in front of my nose. Despite my thick fur, I shivered.

I walked over to the closest wolf, who looked around like a hare, his ears flashing back swiftly, his eyes fearful. "Why are we waking up so early?" I asked sleepily, then yawned for emphasis.

"I don't know," said the wolf slowly. "Probably the Queen summoned us for some task or other."

I nodded, and found that he was staring at my nose. I wondered vaguely if I had something there, but he solved the mystery by taking a deep breath and asking, "Is it true that you saved the Queen from an ambush of ten enemies single-handedly, and that it was you who discovered the faun's plot at the Battle of the Dancing Lawn?"

An undignified snort escaped me before I could repress it. "I'm afraid you are mistaken," I said in cool tones, regaining my composure. "The Queen found my brother and I yesterday only, and invited me into her service." I hesitated, and added, "However, I did give her valuable information about the loyalties of…some." Let him chew on that. The appearance of me knowing more than they knew, and of being a trusted informant of the Queen, should make him nervous, not to mention the implication that the Queen might suspect those unnamed traitors I had mentioned.

He shivered even more, his ears nearly disappearing into his neck fur. "Yes, of course," he said hurriedly, and started to go. I stopped him.

"Would you mind telling me why there seems to be so much rank fear among your ranks? Especially of me? I was under the impression that you were brave and fearless fighters, but if I am mistaken, perhaps I should inform the Queen that you are afraid…?"

He shuddered and rushed to answer. "Not afraid…Fenris. Merely wary."

"Of me?" I persisted.

"Do you mean to say that you don't know?" asked the wolf incredulously. "You don't know?" He noticed that I seemed to be distracted, and hurriedly added, "Excuse me. I have to go." And almost galloped away from me. I started to call after him, but stopped myself. I had noticed my brother. His gaze caught mine for a moment, but he flinched and looked down. A vestige of anger rose in me, but I suppressed it. The wolves seemed to be all woken, but they were waiting for something. Then I remembered that I was leader now.

"It is time to go to the Queen," I barked loudly. My brother was glaring at me now – I could feel his gaze – but I ignored him pointedly. He was unimportant. "Follow me."

I bounded out the narrow doorway and padded silently along the paths that led to the throne room. The others followed me, their steps also soundless, the rustle of shifting fur the only sound until the hallway opened into the broad, high ceiling of the throne room. And there, indeed, seated upon the gigantic ice throne, the Queen stared at us with her ice cold, pale blue eyes, embedded in that unnaturally white skin. Though hardly knowing why, I shivered.

"My Queen," I said gallantly. "We have come, obeying your summons. What is it you wish of us?"

The Queen was silent for a long while. At last she stood, offering me a smile. "Come to me, Fenris. All of you, stay where you are. Your orders will be given shortly."

I padded to her throne and sat beside her, gazing at the throng of wolves. She swept her gaze over them, also, then spoke, her voice sharp in the quiet air. "Romulus." She called. "Rousseu. Ferus. Ishtar. Lycaon. Remus." Six wolves stepped forward, including the one I recognized as the prominent wolf from the previous night. "You will remain here and follow Fenris. He will command you, and you shall obey his commands as though they were my own." Their eyes swept to me, appearing surprised. So was I. Romulus looked annoyed. The female, Ishtar, looked at me, considering, her eyes piercingly sharp.

"Skoll, come to me," she said. My brother did not stir, his eyes sharp on me. I met his gaze evenly. Tension almost crackled between us. "Skoll," said the Queen more loudly. Still my brother did not move. The wolves were all looking from him to me and back again, backing away from both of us. I could almost see the hackles rising. "Skoll!" said the Queen again. Neither of us stirred. I narrowed my eyes, focused my anger and willpower and ferocity into my gaze. He still did not move. We stood like that for a long time, eyes locked. I drew back my lips and snarled, my tail curling over my back, and spoke in a low voice that no human could hear, but that my brother would hear clearly.

"Go, _Skoll._" I emphasized the name, telling him that he would accept this new life, like it or not. He stared at me. I noticed that his mate, a small white thing, was crouching behind him on the floor, shivering. He nosed her gently, breaking his gaze, and very pointedly not looking at me, walked up to the throne.

"Yes?" he said. His voice was challenging, his stare too direct. I nearly snarled again, but controlled myself with an effort.

The Queen was staring him down, but he hardly seemed to notice. Her gaze swept over to his mate, shivering and cowering, and a peculiar smile quirked the corners of her mouth. "Poor dear," she said in a voice that positively dripped with kindness, compassion, and insincerity. "Come here. You look positively freezing." She trembled even more, but slunk up to the Queen, her ears pressed back, and lay down at her feet. The Queen draped a fold of fur over her, but she still looked terrified. My brother's ears flashed back, his eyes narrowing. I almost expected him to whine _no fair, _he looked so indignant.

"My Queen, what do you wish," he growled, the words seeming dragged out of him.

"I wish you to obey me, Skoll," she said mildly. "Only that."

"Obedience is not always as simple as "only"," said Skoll softly. "Especially for ones not made to obey commands of anyone."

The Queen glanced casually at his mate – at least it would have been casual. "How are you, my dear?" she asked softly, her voice containing only a hint of ice. "I hope you are well." The hint was obvious. I could see Skoll's jaw clench.

"You are harder and crueler than winter, my Queen," I heard him mutter, and she laughed. She laughed! I sat down hard, startled.

"You see well, Skoll. It will benefit you, if you use it in my favor. You will lead the rest of these wolves into Narnia to seek out treachery. I am sure you will find it. Treachery lurks everywhere, these days. There is no telling where Fenris will find it." I bared my teeth in what might have been a grin. Maybe.

Skoll bared his teeth as well. It also might have been a grin, but probably not. "I will do as you say, but only for now. I am not well suited to obedience."

"Yes, but obedience may be rewarded with freedom," said the Queen softly. "We shall see, Skoll. Serve well."

Skoll barked at the wolves and padded out of the hall. As soon as he was gone, the Queen called me to her side.

"My dear Fenris," she said, resting her hand on my head. "I fear that treachery may lurk in your brother. Watch him carefully. I fear that he may side with our enemies when the time comes." She paused, then continued. "Thank you for your loyalty last night. It was admirable, and merely confirmation that you are a worthy guard for me. And perhaps even a companion. There are many things a Queen has, but often I am lacking in companionship – of necessity, you understand."

I beamed and puffed up under the Queen's praise. "Thank you, My Queen. Pardon me for asking, but how did you see?"

She laughed coldly. "I have my ways, my dear Fenris. My eyes are everywhere." She looked coldly down at the small she-wolf that was my brother's mate. "Everywhere." She twitched her robe away from the she wolf and stood. "Ginarrbrik? Find a place for this one. And give her some meat." The dwarf motioned at the she-wolf. She drew herself up, regaining some composure, and followed the dwarf. When she was gone, the Witch turned to me. "Fenris, I have something to show you."

"Of course, milady," I said.

"Follow me, then," she answered, and swept out of the hall. I padded along silently beside her for a time, and then we burst out into the sunlight of an open, snowy courtyard.

I was stunned, at first. All around me were statues, perfectly detailed, frozen in a moment of attack or fear. Centaurs, dogs, lions, griffins, horses, even a giant. There was a few wolves that I could glimpse, muzzles raised in a howl of pain that made me shiver, and fauns that made me yelp with satisfaction. The Queen continued walking through the throng, and I saw – here a dwarf, a leopard, a sheepdog, more wolves, a dragon. She stopped in front of a statue that I was sure she had been leading me to. It was yet another wolf, this one much larger than the ones I had seen before, lips pulled back in a fierce snarl, face a rictus of pain and anger. I felt myself begin to snarl also, my tail tucking between my legs, backing away from the statue. He had also a dark mark on his stone muzzle. The Queen ran her hand over his head lovingly.

"He was living, once," said the Queen to me. "My guard, my loyal and trusted companion. He was much like your brother – defiant, brave, challenging everything. He was a good wolf – but he betrayed me to my enemies. I was not defeated, obviously, but he was. I do not forgive or forget, Fenris. And my punishments are forever." She jerked her hand away from the wolf, her cold eyes stabbing into me.

"Why did you show me this?" I asked warily.

"To remind you of the price of failure, Fenris. You may be a good companion, but one failure and you will be like Vestal here. Stone. I trust that you will not fail, Fenris?"

"Never, my Queen," I said swiftly.

"Good," she said coldly, and turned. "We'd best be getting back to the palace now. Remember, Fenris. I do not tolerate failure." Then she was gone. I hesitated, casting a last look at the horrible statue. Then I hurried after her with a final shudder.

_A/N: More name origins: _

_**Rousseu** was the author of many stories about children raised by wolves, which he classified as Homo **Ferus. Romulus **(for those few that don't know) was a child raised by a she-wolf that founded the city of Rome, along with his brother, **Remus, **whom he later killed**. Ishtar **was a goddess that could turn her enemies into wolves. **Lycaon **was a Greek king who was supposedly turned into a wolf by Zeus. **Vestal **was the name for the kind of priestess that gave birth to Romulus and Remus._


	5. In Which Change Comes

_A/N: Woot – finally I'm getting back on track with my old fanfictions. I got a little distracted with new oneshots, but here I am again. So…love my reviewers, but if you're still with me here, I REALLY appreciate feedback from others too. But on another note – thank you SO much, Mousewolf and jasonc65, for sticking with me and reviewing after every chapter. This is another chapter dedicated to you guys – you're keeping me going on this story!_

_And so – the plot thickens._

Days passed in a peculiar monotony for me. Romulus didn't have much to teach me about, and his lessons were relatively simple – please the Queen, and guard her with your life. But days were uneventful, and the Queen showed no signs of needing protection. Occasionally my brother's search party would return with a prisoner, a faun or a fox or a lion, and once, even a wolf, stirring up rebellion or speaking out against the Queen. On the last, after he was frozen into stone, his last yelp still fading into the air, her gaze flicked to me, and her icy eyes caught mine as she said, "Take him to the courtyard, Gnarrbrik. Give him a place of honor."

I shivered but kept my face stony. I rarely saw my brother, and when I did, his gaze would skid away from mine, his face stonier than mine, but his stance communicating fury and betrayal. I would always stare him down until he turned away to business of his own. But at last, my Queen sensed the boredom among her guards and began to send us out for scouting and capturing expeditions. Never very long, or for great distances, but I had the honour of bringing back prisoners, fauns especially, that had offended my Queen. I would look on as she waved her wand and they became stone, frozen in their last moment, and feel a strange vindictive pleasure as their proud necks were bent as they prayed for mercy before their screams were frozen in their throats. It was a revenge for the deaths of my pack members, and I felt no pity for any of those half-human creatures.

But every time I moved in and out of those great, ice and metal gates, there I saw, in a peculiar gauntlet, the frozen stone forms of the wolf conspirators. I was sure that there was no coincidence in this uncomfortable placement. The Queen was still warning me of the price of failure or betrayal. Eventually I learned to keep my eyes straight ahead, never straying right or left, but every time I saw one of those frozen stone figures that had once breathed and been a wolf, like myself; a peculiar twinge would run through my body and my pace would speed until I passed by the frightening spectres.

The treatment the wolves gave me was a peculiar blend – resentment, fear, and grudging respect. I had little company among the males, but the female in my small guardian pack, Ishtar, began to seek out my company. She was very pretty, a lovely blue-gray color with eyes that twinkled with mirth and life, and I enjoyed her presence by my side. When we were not guarding the Queen, hunting or tracking down betrayers, late in the evenings, she would come to the corner that I slept alone in and lay down beside me, her steady warmth a comfort. I rejoiced in her company, and loved her as I had loved no she-wolf before.

But then things began to change from this – if not enjoyable, then comfortable, routine. The first blow came when I was awakened early from a sleep one morning in the winter that somehow did not end. The snow had fallen for more than a year now, and some of the wolves whispered of witchery and worried about a lack of food if the snow continued. I did not care – I trusted that the Queen would care for us, and if those animals outside that betrayed her starved, so be it. But the surprise this morning was that Ishtar was gone, and it was Romulus that had awakened me, his eyes gleaming with a strange satisfaction that was somehow sinister. "Come," he said eagerly. "The Queen wishes to speak to you."

I rose slowly, stretching the sleep from my bones. He watched me impatiently, and when I was ready he hurried off, his steps rushed and eager, almost a lope. He led me to the Great Hall, and halted at the entrance, his head bowed but his eyes still gleaming and a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. I trotted to the front of the hall. The Queen sat in her throne, robed in white that accentuated the paleness of her white skin. She held her wand in one hand and her scepter in the other, and her eyes were cold. "Ah, Fenris," she said softly, her voice sharp and cutting in the still, cold air. "You have come. I wish to have a word with you, my most faithful of servants."

Something about her words sent an ominous chill through me. I trotted to my place beside her throne and sat down. She lowered her hand, not looking at me, and her finger brushed along the dark burn on my nose. A tingle ran through my body and I shivered. I sensed her smile. "Remember my warning, Fenris?" she said. "I thought you would. I trust you yet, Fenris, but you should be very careful. After all, those who consort with traitors may be traitors themselves, yes?"

"What do you mean, my Queen?" I asked warily – and fearfully.

"Perhaps I may trust in you yet, then, Fenris. But take care who you spend time with. There is treachery abroad."

"Treachery? My Queen, who is treacherous? I am ever faithful to you –"

"Of course, of course. But be careful." She raised her voice. "Gnarrbrik! Bring out the prisoners!" She looked down at me, smiling slightly. "There is treachery among my own."

The dwarf shuffled out, leading a line of wolves, all manacled and muzzled. Their heads were bent and their coats were matted and patchy with blood. I recognized only a few of them – Lycaon, a wolf named Woriculf and my brother's mate, shivering and cowering. And there, in the back, her blue-gray coat matted and both sets of paws tied so firmly together that she could only move with a shuffling gate, was my dear Ishtar.

Her head was not bowed like the others, but held high, her eyes blazing. But in their depths I caught a note of fear, and when she saw me, her eyes filled with hope. But I could not look at her. I sensed the trap closing around me, and there was no escape.

The Queen did not look at me as she stood, pacing back and forth in front of the pitiful line. "These wolves were caught deep within my palace – my own castle! – plotting treachery against me. They were in league with a group of animals waiting for the return of Aslan, that most elusive _lion…_" she spat the word as if it tasted foul to her, "Chief among them the Beavers. This has been proven." Her cold, cold eyes turned to me, shining with triumph. "What shall I do with them, Fenris?"

I hesitated. How I hesitated! I did not care for the others, but Ishtar – to live without her, to live with the betrayal of her, would be terrible indeed. But which was the strongest loyalty – to my queen or my love? I shuddered and twitched under the weight of my Queen's cold eyes.

Ishtar had been working at her muzzle, and suddenly it came off. Her voice rang in the hall as she attempted to spring toward me. "Fenris, my love!" she cried. "Please! Don't give in."

I stared at her as if I had never seen her before. Her eyes were brimming with tears. "Fenris!" she cried. "Fenris!" I started to turn to the Queen, my jaws opening reluctantly. Then the cry came from behind me, the desperation and despair ringing in her voice. "Rakashan!"

How had she learned my true-name? That name cut to my soul, reminding me painfully of when I was weak and disillusioned. I had almost forgotten it, but that cry sealed her fate. I shut her voice from my ears, my eyes and voice going flat as I pronounced judgment. I was no longer that weak puppy. I was Fenris. I was powerful. I was merciless!

"They should all be statues, to remind your servants of the price of betrayal forever." I heard Ishtar's howl of anguish, but I did not look as their cries, one by one, were cut off. One by one, until the howl was silent. I trotted down the line then, staring into their dead eyes and frozen expressions of fear, until I reached Ishtar, or the statue that had been Ishtar. Her nose was lifted in an eternal howl that would never sound. Her face was frozen in an expression of anger and despair forever. I struggled with myself, but then I spat at her feet. "You betrayed me, Ishtar, when you betrayed the Queen," I said fiercely, but my heart ached. I sensed the Queen's laughter behind me.

_The price of failure. I wonder how many will be like Ishtar, how many will be stone forever, to secure your power? _A voice whispered darkly in my mind, but I ignored it stubbornly.


	6. In Which There is Death

_A/N: Thanks once again for the reviews, and a special bow and kudos to amidknightkiss, for catching my continuity errors. Fenris's love's name was, in fact, Ishtar, not Vestal. Vestal was the rebellious male wolf. Thanks for catching me, and keep those reviews coming, all of you! A small note for this chapter - it may be slightly disturbing, if anyone young is reading this. But I think you should read it anyway, because it is very important to the story, I think. And remember to review!_

The second blow was only a few days after Ishtar died to me. Every day as I walked through the doors, I was tormented by the sight of six new statues, each frozen, foremost her howling form, tormenting me forever. Romulus was watching me, but he saw no sign of the treason that he hoped would be revealed, only harder eyes, harder and colder.

My scouting expeditions grew more frequent as the Queen's rule grew stronger and she grew more confident. In sync with this, the number of statues in the courtyard grew, and snow continued to fall. The wolves grew thin and scrawny. If it were not for the Queen's occasional generosity, we would have starved to death within weeks.

My days lost the pleasure that Ishtar had briefly brought me. But she had been a traitor. Every time I passed the statue that had been my first love, I forced myself to face her and spit at her feet. She was a traitor. She deserved no mercy.

Why couldn't I convince myself of that simple fact?

Why couldn't I just believe the Queen? Why couldn't I just know that she was right, as I once had?

I could not sort out my thoughts. They were painfully tangled around each other in knots. Confusion was the only thing that marked my days, one snowy blizzard from another. I found myself reciting the names of the wolves I had condemned to death or worse. _Ishtar. Woriculf. Lycaon. _The she-wolf that had been my brother's mate, that I had never bothered to know. All stone. All frozen, forever, until their faces crumbled into nothing and they were only scattered boulders in the Queen's courtyard.

I was scouting the day when the beginning of the end came. I found myself alone, padding through the snow falling in torrents around my ears. It was already up to my chest and still falling fast. I plowed through it, my eyes scanning the empty, snow-covered woods for movement, when the howling wind carried a sound to me. I pricked my ears, straining to hear.

"- we must attack soon, while she is not…" I heard no more as the wind died away, but it was enough to recognize the voice. My brother.

My lips crawled back from my teeth and my muscles stiffened, my hair standing on end. _Traitor! Scum! Dog! _I cursed him over and over. How could he be my brother? Such folly, such arrogance, that he thought he knew better than the Queen of Narnia, that he thought he could countenance this treason –

Rage took me in a red haze, and I longed to lunge, to sink my teeth into his throat, to kill him and howl in victory at his death, but I controlled myself with an effort and crept closer. Part of me screamed to turn around, to forget this. He was my brother. I loved him.

Didn't I?

Why did I want to kill him? Perhaps he just couldn't understand that the Queen was always right, that she had conquered everything, that we had no chance of surviving if we didn't follow her-

Now where had that come from? I followed the Queen because I was loyal to her, because she was powerful and good and just, because –

Because she had spelled me. When she had touched me, that chill that had come over me was a spell. She had put a spell on me, to make me loyal to her. I was hers in body and soul because of her spell. She was a Witch.

The Queen –

I shivered, struggling with myself, turning from side to side. I threw back my nose and almost howled with the anguish of my decision. But then my brother made my decision for me. He fell silent, his head turning to the side, scenting the air.

"There's someone here," he said, and moved swiftly to my hiding place. He pushed forward and his eyes met mine in shock. "Little brother?" He said, then horror stole over his face, and anger. He leapt forward and knocked me to my back, snarling at me. "How much did you hear, traitor?" Three badgers and a squirrel peered at me through the bushes, eyes full of fear.

I looked at them and sneered. "This is your army?" I asked scornfully. "You call me traitor?" I hissed, the words almost unconscious. I had no control of them – they simply poured from my mouth in a voice that was hardly mine. "Who is the traitor, Skoll? You are plotting to betray the Queen –"

"The Witch," corrected my brother – no, he was not my brother, could not be my brother. Must not be my brother. "She is a Witch. She deserves death."

"No!" I snarled. "She is right." Suddenly my anger faded, and I found myself able to speak as me, as Fenris. Was that my name? It seemed I had had another, long ago. "We have no choice, Skoll. We must follow her or die." Suddenly I narrowed my eyes. What had I said? I followed her because of my choice! Mine!

"Die, yes. But we have a choice. We can fight back," said my brother, and his eyes became distant, pleading. It seemed to me that a cage was opening, offering me a way out, sunlight, life. Beauty, and love. "We can become our own leaders, if we all fight back, rise against her –"

The brief freedom was gone. The cage slammed shut with a cage. There was no way out. I was trapped in this life, for better or worse. I could not fight back. Not yet. The anger that was not mine rose again, fierce and hot. "You lie! The Queen's way is the only way! Traitor!" I threw him off, snapping at his nose, his chest, his throat, his body. He twisted away from me and overbalanced, falling to his back. I bared my teeth, snarling at him. The rodents had disappeared.

"Please, brother," he pleaded. "Fight back. Join me. There is another way. Fenris – brother – please."

You are no brother of mine," I snarled fiercely. I saw him wince away from my breath on his face, pain in every line of his body. Then his eyes hardened.

"I see that the Witch has still a strong hold on your mind. It is a pity that a wolf once so fine could fall into such evil."

My eyes widened and I howled as I had never howled before. "Die, traitor!" I cried, and then the heat behind my eyes blinded me to everything but the brief, bitter taste of blood in my mouth and then a terrible feeling of triumph. I howled again, but this time it was the howl of a hunting wolf that has brought down a prey long hunted.

When my sight cleared, the carcass of my brother was already cooling, his eyes glassy and his throat torn out. I swayed on my feet and looked at him, my eyes wide. I backed away, my fear like bile in my throat. How could I have done this? He was my brother. My brother! I had loved him – I had – I had –

I whimpered softly, turning from place to place, but the path I had taken to this cursed place was lost. Lost. I was lost. What had I done? Who was I? How could I have killed my brother, killed another wolf?

The Law crept unbidden into my head, the Law of the Pack. _He who kills another pack wolf shall be exiled, shunned, and hated to the end of his days. The end of his days. _How long was that now? I was cursed. How many had I killed? I did not even have the excuse of the Witch's spell to hide behind. I was so lost. Where could I go now? What could I do? Who would I follow? How would I survive?

I curled up, despairing. Blackness crept over my sight. How many had I cursed to death and worse? _Lycaon, Ishtar, Woriculf. _Now there was a new name – Takire. Takire. That had been his name, before Skoll. Before the Witch. What had been mine? What had been my name? I could not remember. I was nothing now. Not Fenris. And I could not go back to my old identity, not now. Not ever. Lost. Lost.

But there was still a path, a path of pain and certain death that I could take. The path of betrayal. _But I have already betrayed. I have betrayed my kin. _

_Fight back, _my brother had begged me. I would fight back, now, when it was too late to possibly win. I would die, or be stone forever. It would be a fitting end. And perhaps my replacement would be shown my statue, and warned of the price of failure. But I had already failed. The Witch had no hold on me now, and I had no hold on myself. I would cast away my gift of life, for there was nothing to live for. Nothing to hide behind, nothing to fight for. Nothing to win, and nothing to lose. Nothingness would be my end.

It was time to fight back at last, when I could not win. I would fight to lose. For my brother, for Takire.

Because I had no self to lose for.


	7. In Which a Banner Is Chosen

_A/N: Love to all my faithful readers that are still with me! The number of alerts on my list is growing with each chapter, and I am now on the favorites list of several authors (not just for this story.) I am euphorically happy! So, here goes: (by the way, it is looking like this story will be 10 chapters, possibly more if there is a need to continue. Rather short chapter, kind of transitional. More coming soon._

I trotted back to the castle with my head held high, but inside me I was boiling with fear and anxious excitement. How many would join me? How would I determine which were loyal, and which were not? How many would fight against the Witch?

_If they had a name, _whispered a voice in my mind. _If they had a name, a banner, to gather to, more would come. _I racked my mind for some legendary hero, some name that wolves and animals would flock to, but there was nothing.

I found my way to the castle easily enough. My feet knew the steps, but as I looked up at the icy spires towering into the sky, I felt a sudden dreadful fear.

What could I do against the power that dwelt within those walls? How could I fight against the dread that gave her strength?

I pushed back the thoughts. I had accepted that I would die in this last fight. I had no hope of winning. But I could fight back.

And yet, I thought I saw before my eyes the cage door, and it was locked. There was no way out. I was too deeply imprisoned to escape. I could not escape, would not escape. There was no way out. There was no use in fighting. I would only crush myself against the iron bars.

I pushed back the panic that threatened to envelop me. I had no choice. No choice but to die in service to the Witch, to die in slavery, or to fight back and die with some vestige of honor. And I had chosen the latter. There was no going back.

Lying in the dark chamber where the wolves slept, I did not rest. I searched for a name, a banner that wolves and woodland creatures would come to if I called. Nothing came to me, but be it fate or some mysterious chance, it was then that I heard a whisper from the wolves beside me gathered together. Fearful, but full of reverence, almost worshipful.

"They say that Aslan is on the move," they were whispering to each other, their voice were full of hope. "And that when he comes, this devilish winter will be over."

"Myself, I think that if Aslan challenged the Queen-" but then the voice was hushed hurriedly, and they said no more, glancing at me. I memorized their faces. My first followers. I would not forget them, and they would come to the name that they had given me for my fight.

_Aslan. _A name surrounded by legends and fear. Voices hushed in love or apprehension when his name was spoken. He had not been in Narnia for many a year, not since my grandfather was but a pup. Wolves of our kind lived long, longer even than the great bears of the north. My old grandfather had died seventy years ago. He would often tell us tales of the Great Lion in the den when we were still blind and barely able to hear.

"_What was he like, Grandpa? Was he as big and terrible as the stories say?" _I asked.

"_Oh yes, my son," _he replied, his eyes distant. _"As great and terrible as anything you can imagine. There was a great power in him, but he was beautiful and kindly even in his terrible ferocity, and all who looked upon him loved him and were awed by his power, even those who came to see the lies and legends all proved to be nothing, and that there was no lion. His tawny coat shone in the sun, and I felt – I felt as if I was grown into a young wolf, frolicking in the long grasses with a lovely she wolf by my side. I was happier then than I have ever been since, but when I die I hope I shall see him again, as the tales say. That was before this endless winter came, and the snow fell without end in the marches of the north. Back then, all the year was spring and we hunted in plenty, never taking more than we needed. It has not been the same since the Great Lion left. No, not the same." _Then my grandfather would stare into the sky, muttering to himself, and we had no more tales out of him.

Yes, if I called the name of Aslan, animals would come. They would rise to fight the witch if I spoke of Aslan. I was sure of it.

It would be Aslan, then. Aslan would be my leader, the leader for the last great fight against the Witch. And then we would fall.

But if we had to fall, I would make it such a fall as the world would never forget.


	8. In Which the Rebellion Begins

_A/N: I love you guys! Thank you so much for sticking with me. So, here comes the next chapter, just because I love you so much. Keep reviewing, peoples! And now, chapter 8:_

The Queen – the Witch – called me to her the next morning. I kept my face as smooth as I could, but I was afraid that she knew, that she had sensed my thoughts from afar and my rebellion would be crushed before it began. But it did not appear so. Romulus watched me warily, his eyes perhaps sensing some change in my air, some miniscule difference in eye or scent, but I stared back at him defiantly. I no longer cared who I challenged.

I stopped at the entrance to the hall and bowed my head in deference. For now, of course, I would have to maintain my façade, until it was time to die. "My Queen," I murmured. "You called me?"

"I did," said the Witch coldly, but her voice was sweet and falsely sympathetic as ever. "Fenris, I saw what happened yesterday. With your brother."

So she had been watching, but she could not sense my thought, or she would be angry. When the Witch was angry, she was poor at hiding her temper. I nodded and bowed my head lower. I did not have to feign my shame. "I am sorry, my Queen, but he was a…traitor." The word tasted foul in my mouth, hypocritical.

"I am sorry for the loss of a packmate and family member," the Witch declaimed without a trace of sympathy. "But you acted wisely and loyally. Your loyalty under duress will be rewarded."

I nodded, packaging my feelings in a small corner of my mind, ignored and set aside for now. Now was not the time for anger or emotional behavior. "Traitors deserve what punishment is given them," I intoned flatly. "If he chose to betray you, he deserved to die."

The Witch nodded, a smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. "Of course. I will remember this, Fenris. You may rest assured that I will." Somehow, from her, that phrase was not comforting. "You may go now. That is all I wished to say."

Was it a test? Had she been checking if her spell lay still firmly on my mind or merely checking my loyalty, as she had with Ishtar? I would never know, I knew, but I wanted to, and my mind whirled with uncertainties and fear of what the Witch's honeyed words could hide.

When it was evening, I returned with heavy feet to the chamber, all too aware of the deceit that I would create, the lies that would spill from a honeyed tongue to lure creatures to their doom in the last great fight, the fight when it was too late for hope of salvation. I waited awake in a corner until the wolves that had spoken the name of Aslan entered, and after they lay down, I moved close to them and looked down at their shapes as they settled uneasily for sleep.

"You spoke more truthfully than you know," I said softly. "Aslan will return." Then I turned and melted into the darkness, watching them as they sought for the source of this mysterious voice. My eyes were keener because of the Witch's spell, my nose sharper, and they were clearly outlined in the dark to me. But they would not see me, though I knew they would recognize the voice.

Perhaps they would want to forget that they had heard anything, but I would not let them. They would remember, and they would fight. I would lure them into battle.

I would deceive them to their deaths.

Guilt hung on me. Was I right to kill others just so that I would not die alone? Was I right to drag others into a fight that I knew we could not win?

I struggled with myself even as the sky grew cold and gray and a little light crept into our dim chamber. I did not sleep that night.

The next day passed as normal, with a scouting expedition, guard duty, and the time in the throne room watching as those condemned or treasonous were brought before the Witch to be sentenced to death. For that was always the penalty now, for those poor innocents unlucky enough to be caught fighting against a rule they did not believe in.

The Witch had no mercy.

The night came, and again I lay down beside the group of wolves. They heard me, and their eyes struggled to draw a stranger from the darkness. They saw nothing. "Who are you?" they whispered. "How do you speak of the Great Lion so boldly, with such confidence? Don't you fear that she will catch you, and you will spend the rest of your days as stone?"

"I am not afraid of Witches," I said bravely, but my stomach constricted with this reminder of my peril, the peril that I had accepted and at once hoped would not be necessary. "I am one who would see this land freed and its creatures fighting back. I am one who advocates for a revolution."

"Who are you?" they asked again, but I had already faded back into the darkness and did not reply.

They were intrigued, I could tell. I had to lure them gently forward, baiting them for every step of the way, or they would not come. I knew how to trick the minds of wolves well enough.

I was a deceiver myself. Perhaps the Witch and myself were not so very different, after all.

Manipulation had become second nature to me, and trickery came more easily than honesty. That scared me, but in this world it was the only way to survive. You had to manipulate, friend and enemy; those weaker than you could be forced, and the stronger could be coerced. That was one lesson I had learned before the Witch.

Perhaps the evil had been within me all along, and the Witch had only shown me the power I could gain by using it. Perhaps I was wrong to fight back when we were not so different. We both manipulated and controlled others to our will. We both desired power.

Perhaps that was all I wanted after all? Power, to take the Witch's place. I fought, hoping that she would fall and I could be her successor. And then I would hold power, yes, such power as I had never known, to cow the fauns and force them into starvation and submission as they had to us.

That was all I wanted, wasn't it? Revenge. Revenge on the Witch for my weak will, that I did not have the strength to fight against coercion or a spell that only had made me defend her honor and abhor those who insulted her. The rest, the deaths, the killings, the merciless abandon with which I had crushed others to obtain power, I, and only I, could take responsibility for.

But I would still fight back, still manipulate, because there was no choice but to die, one way or another. Die slowly of starvation in this endless winter, or die a swift death of thoughtless stone: to stand in immobility until you crumbled to dust and moss grew on your face. I had chosen the latter, and I would not go to my death alone. Would not, whether the world willed it or no. I would drag others down with me.

The days passed in much the same manner for a week or so, with lies and deceit of the Witch occupying my days and my speeches and dark mystery to the wolves my nights. I felt as though my soul were decaying in all this lying and sidestepping, the twisting of words and the trickery of those whom I might call my packmates.

One night a wolf, perhaps quicker than the rest, spoke up with a question that I had not heard before and was not prepared to answer. "Why won't you show yourself?" he asked. "If you are so ready to fight the Witch, why won't you show yourself to us openly, so we may begin this revolution that you cry for? The Witch is cunning, they say. Perhaps you are a spy of hers, trying to lure us into open support of her. I will declare now that I fight for the lion. I am no servant of the Witch. If she hears of this and I am punished, we will know that you are a traitor. If she does not, perhaps you will trust that we are loyal and worthy fighters for the Great Lion. Or at least, I am. I would fight for him, if he truly is returning and this is not some lie of the witch." Then he fell silent, but I heard the mutters of the others.

I thought for a time, and at last I spoke again. The wolves seemed surprised to hear my voice. "And I will tell you that I support the Great Lion and fight against the Witch. If she does not hear of this, perhaps you shall know my name. But you should recognize my voice. Listen carefully tomorrow, and perhaps you shall hear me. As for my purpose, you are just to ask my why I will not show myself. There are traitors all around us, and ever we must be wary. But if you truly have a desire to fight for Aslan, gather at the oak on the east side of the palace at dusk and I will speak to you openly there. Gather only those who are loyal, and we shall make plans to fight the Witch." Then I faded back into a corner and left them to think over what I had said.

Perhaps I was moving too fast, and I would be betrayed before I could begin the fight. But I was tired of this sneaking about, hiding in corners and lying between my teeth. It was time to begin the battle in freedom, not in darkness like a cowardly rabbit. I was a wolf, not a foolish prey animal. Tomorrow we would see what would become of me and these wolves hopeful of a new future.

Yes, we would see if these wolves were as brave as their talk. And perhaps we would see if I was strong enough to go through with this, once they saw who I was.

The next afternoon I pleaded the excuse of a scouting expedition to the east side of the lake when it was nearly dusk to escape the palace. I then crept down to the chambers deep in the palace where I knew I would find two wolves that I wished to come with me. What their names had been I did not know, but they were called Grael and Kaiya, and they were both part of the group that I had been speaking to. When I reached the chamber I called their names, and they glanced at one another but approached.

"What do you wish from us, Fenris?" asked Grael. He was the wolf that had spoken last night.

"I am going on a scouting expedition to the east side of the lake now," I said. "And I thought of you two to accompany me, unless you have some other business to attend to?" Some glimmer of recognition flashed in Kaiya's eyes, but she said nothing. I guessed that I had been recognized, but she didn't seem to believe it.

Grael looked at Kaiya and seemed even more wary. Perhaps he feared that he had been betrayed, but soon enough his fears would be allayed. I knew that he would not refuse at least. No wolf would, if I asked them. They feared me almost as much as the Witch. Once that thought had given me pleasure, but now it merely made me feel sick. "We will come," Kaiya said slowly, her ears flickering back and forth with uncertainty. The words were not spoken, but they hung in the air between us. _We have no choice. _

We moved out of the palace at an easy trot, but I did not speak to them. I could hear them whispering back and forth behind me, but I shut them out and thought about what I would say when I reached the oak. I had no idea, really, but I was sure that something would come when the time came. Something.

When we reached the oak, there was already a gathering of wolves there. It was pitifully small, but it would have to be enough. Grael and Kaiya had fallen behind, and I had some time. I peered through a screen of snow-covered woods at them, then moved around the edge of the trees to behind the oak. Grael and Kaiya approached moments after. They looked at the gathering of wolves in growing shock and horror, then searched for me. Not seeing me, they moved forward through the leaves and called out softly to the wolves. "We must disband, quickly," they said. "We don't know where he is, but Fenris brought us here. He must have heard some wind of this meeting. We have been betrayed. The speaker will not come. He has betrayed us."

"No," I said clearly from behind the tree, even as the wolves muttered and stirred in confusion. "You have not been betrayed. I am here." I stepped out from behind the oak and moved toward the group of wolves. They shrank back, their eyes going to the burn on my nose, healed and now only remembered in a black stripe that would always remain.

"I am your speaker," I said clearly. "And I have come, as I promised."

"Will the White Witch kill us all, then?" murmured one wolf. "I do not understand."

"How can you be the speaker who spoke so boldly of Aslan?" asked Grael, stepping forward. "It is impossible. You are the White Witch's highest servant. You are her slave."

"I am not her slave any longer," I said softly. "I have broken free of the spell that held me bound and I am ready to fight back against her, to bring her down even at the cost of my own death. I am prepared to fight for Aslan."

"Your voice is the same," said Kaiya, seeming amazed. "I recognized it when you spoke to me. But why did you not stand forward before now? And why do you even now serve the Witch?"

"I had been unable to break free of her spell. And even now, where better place to hide than under her nose, where she will not look?"

Some of the wolves were nodding, seeming to understand. I heard a whisper, soft among them, but my keen ears picked it out. "He must be powerful indeed, if he can deceive the Witch so successfully. It would be well to have him among us for our rebellion."

"Why are there so few?" I asked softly, looking over the small group of wolves. "Surely more must believe in fighting back than this?"

"Most are too afraid of the seeing powers of the Witch," said Grael disgustedly. "And the rest believe that there is no other choice, that it is futile to fight. And some," he looked pointedly at me, "have become stone, because of the Witch's devilish power."

I bowed my head in acquiescence to his accusation. "If you wish," I offered him, for he seemed to be the leader. "I will lead you and any who wish to follow in a rebellion. I have information, secret weaknesses about the Witch and her defenses. I will not betray you to the Witch. I am her slave no longer. I will swear it on anything you ask." _I will not betray you, but we will die nonetheless. There is no hope._

"The Witch has no weakness," Grael said flatly, looking me in the eye.

"All things have a weakness," I said, staring at him just as directly.

There was a long silence, and at last Grael looked away. "I cannot see a lie in your eyes, but you are skilled in deceit. I will not believe that there is no lie in this plan of yours. You know something that you are not telling me, but I believe that you will not betray us. If I catch one whiff of treachery, however, you will die with my teeth in your throat. That much I promise you. But we will follow you, for now."

I bowed my head. "If I betray you, you may kill me, Grael. But I will not betray you." Then in the ancient manner of wolves, we lifted our muzzles together and howled, our cries rising and intertwining. When we broke off the cry, the others took it up. There was no breaking this alliance now, unless we would be craven and hated by all wolves, forever. The rebellion had begun.

_And where will it end? _I wondered darkly. _With all of us dead, or stone? I hope that it will end better, but hope seems to have left Narnia forever. Where will this rebellion end? _Where would I be, when all was said and done?

I was full of despair as I rejoined the howl. We would fall. We would fall. There were far too few. We would die, and be forgotten in the tides of time. We were lost.

But I could not stop now.


	9. In Which More Ties Are Broken

_A/N: Just for my faithful reviewers, I am editing by the day now. Thank you guys, and keep up the wonderful reviews! Love to all of you. I am handing out plates of cookies. Here is another chapter. _

I found myself, in the next few days, spending a lot of time with Grael.

I had, normally, no objection to socializing with any wolves, but there was something about that wolf that just grated on my nerves like mad. I hated him, and my hatred grew no less with the time I spent with him. In fact, it grew more. If there had been anything that could turn me from my course that I had begun, it would have been him.

Perhaps he hated me as much as I hated him, but it hardly mattered. We were bound by an oath that no wolf would dare break, and much as we hated each other, I would have endure this intolerable wolf until we fell, for fall we would, I was certain.

We argued at every step of the way, and Grael's every glance was accusing. He challenged my every suggestion and implied that I might betray him every other day. It grew extremely tiresome. Fortunately, the other leader (Kaiya) was more tolerant. I attempted to work with her more than Grael, but there was no avoiding him. Kaiya was still wary of me and said little as we discussed options and recruiting expeditions, but her eyes were always inquiring, curious, and interested, and she was far more open to listening to me than (perhaps) her more short-tempered friend. Perhaps, if things had turned out differently, we could have been friends, and maybe even mates. Before.

Before Ishtar. Before Ishtar, before my brother, before the Witch, there had been so many options. It had all gone wrong when my pride had not let me listen to my brother. I would have died then, but I would die now. What was the difference when choosing between deaths? Things could have been different, but they would not be now. There was no turning back.

The first step was gathering those who would fight. Every day, wolves would go into the woods to feel out the animals left, those too dispirited to fight back, those who didn't care, those who hated the Witch and cursed her in whispers. I only joined them once – I was not very good at speaking civilly to any animals. It had been bred into me since birth that the other animals, Talking or not, were beneath our notice, only prey or, like fauns, those we hated because they had driven us to starvation.

Our group grew by days, and every day we gathered somewhere different – this day, by the rock bridge far south of the Witch's castle, the next, on the borders of Ettinsmoor. We escaped in small groups, always beneath the notice of the Witch, three or four at a time so as not to raise suspicions. Some days we did not gather. But even after a month of recruiting, our group was pitifully small, no more than fifty at best, only twenty of them wolves and many of them rodents, brave perhaps, but not very good in a fight.

I spent many sleepless nights considering the odds if we were discovered. How many of these hopeful wolves and animals would die if it came to a fight? How many of these innocents, searching only for a way out. I forced the thoughts out of my mind. They were only tools, to use until it was time to cast them away. They were sideliners, they hardly mattered. They could not. I had to be merciless, or I would be frozen with pity for our plight. All too many of them had been lured by promises of success. There would be no success. Only death, or endless days as stone.

After no more animals came to join us, we began our desperate plots, planning ambushes, murders, tricks. Our only hope was in deceit because of our pitifully small numbers. We could not hope to win by force. I listened and volunteered information only every so often. I knew that for all our plots, we could not win. We were going to our dooms.

Grael always watched me, his eyes questioning my silence. Sometimes he would direct questions at me, asking what I thought of this or that plan. I would answer carefully, because I sensed the question behind that gaze. Always suspicion, waiting for me to make a fatal mistake that would betray myself to him. He would never trust me, I knew. I had no hope for friendship with that wolf – or indeed, with any wolf. I had gained nothing but self-loathing by going to the Witch, and lost more. I had lost myself. Every night I struggled to remember my true name, but it was lost. Lost in memory or the spell that the Witch had woven over me. I was Fenris in heart and blood and name now. And no wolf would trust me ever again. I would be alone forever, until I was dead or stone. That was the only fate that awaited me at the end of the hopes and dreams and folly with which I had gone to the Witch.

I had gone to her willingly, and it had been my downfall. My brother had been the wiser of us, after all. He was dead now, but he had lost nothing. We would all die, sooner or later. And I would die a free wolf, not a slave.

Or perhaps I was still a slave, after all. I could not escape her. I still groveled and served her until the meetings, and then I was always held in fear of her, of the discovery that I knew would come. _Not yet, _I always pleaded. _Not yet. Please, give us one more day, Aslan, before we fall. _

But I knew that the day would come, and soon. We could not hide from her forever.

I knew that it would come, because we had laid plans for the greatest ambush yet. We had killed, a few dwarves and even a couple wolves, but our greatest plan was about to come. We would ambush the Witch herself, two days hence. There was no hope of victory, but the others – the fools – hoped that we would take her by surprise.

I wish they had had a chance to fall differently.

The day came, the day before, and we stood beneath the oak and laid further plans, talking of how tomorrow would go, speaking hopefully of success. Or they did, at any rate. I had no hope, only despair. So tomorrow would be the day that we would fall. I stood away from them, alone, thinking gloomily that the day had come sooner than I had wished. I was lost in my own thoughts, and so I did not sense the approach of wolves behind me until I fell sprawling in the snow. I struggled to rise, but I was tired from my sleepless nights, and weakening. However, my eyes caught a glimpse of a face that was all too familiar before I heard the voice that was even more so.

"Hold him still. Don't let him make a sound. Spread around and encircle them. Don't kill any of them if you can help it. The Queen wants them alive."

Romulus. So he had found the proof he desired of my treachery at last. I shuddered with anger and a desire to kill him, but I forced myself to lie still. Wasn't this what I wanted? To die fighting, to die caught in my betrayal of the Witch?

But now that it came to it, I was not ready to die.

There was no hope for us. There were too few, and the Witch's wolves were many. We were surrounded and bound by dwarves in a twinkling. A few of the wolves tried to escape, but they fell before the wolves that pounced on them with no mercy. There was no choice for them. They would die as stone.

We were marched to the Witch's castle. The familiar landscape seemed clearer, more beautiful than ever before. It was my last time seeing the world. My last day. I wished I could have lived to see this winter end.

Or perhaps it would never end. Perhaps the Witch was too powerful now. Even Aslan could not defeat her. Winter would always kill spring. The Witch would strangle the life out of Narnia with this winter that had lasted fifteen years and more. I could not remember the taste of spring. Or perhaps it had never existed.

The ice on my paws felt colder, harder. There would be no mercy. I looked up at the Witch's throne of ice and felt a shuddering wrench in my belly as I saw Romulus sitting in the place that had been mine, his face fixed in a small, smug smile.

"The penalty for treason is death," said the Witch coldly, looking at all of us, bound and despairing, some of us weeping with the knowledge of the fate that awaited us. "Maugrim, what do you think?"

"I think," said Romulus – or perhaps it was Maugrim now. "That your Majesty is wise to kill these betrayers. They should be stone, so they can think on their betrayal forever."

My teeth bared, I glared at him. He tried to look me in the eyes, but he saw something that disturbed him there and looked away. My eyes turned to the Witch. She met my gaze evenly. "Fenris, come here."

My steps were reluctant, slow, but I could not stop them. I came to the throne, dreading what awaited me there. She reached out her hand and placed in on my head. I could not move. "You are no longer Fenris. I take what I have given you from you, and give it to my faithful servant, Maugrim. You have not served faithfully, and so you will die. Do you accept this?"

I had only one choice. The word came reluctantly, like sticky treacle, from my mouth. "Yes."

"You have served other than me. Is this true."

"Yes."

"Your life before mine, was that the oath you took when you first came before me?"

"Yes."

"Kneel, Fenris, and I will pronounce judgment." I had no choice. I was forced to my knees with a gasp. "You have not served only the Queen, as you swore. You did not put your life before mine, as was sworn. You have betrayed. You are burned clean of Fenris. You are nothing. You are nameless."

I felt it, like a terrible wrench in my heart as though it were being pulled through my ribs. Then I felt a terrible emptiness, and there was nothing. I was no one. I had no identity. I was lost. I howled, raising my nose to the roof and crying a terrible call of loss. Everything was lost. I was lost. I was nothing.

The Queen's voice was raised above mine. She stood, and picked up her wand, holding it above my head. "Fenris, for this betrayal, you shall be stone forever. You will stand as a reminder of the price of failure. You are stone!"

Her wand was raised. It fell with a crack, and I felt my throat constricting, closing with a coldness, the coldness of stone. A gray veil was being drawn over my eyes. My sight was vanishing. I could feel my muscles freezing, becoming stone. I was nothing. I was soulless. I was stone. Fiery

My last glimpse was of Maugrim, his face full of terrible gloating right before my eyes, and a last whisper. "You spoke more truly than you know. Aslan is returning. He has come back to Narnia."

Despair took me. I had lost everything. I would not see the end of the White Witch. I would never see Aslan. Then everything was pain. I tried to howl, but my throat was stone. I had no voice. No thought. No movement. No life.

I was stone.

There was nothing else.


	10. In Which There Is Stone

_A/N: Did I leave you hanging rather cruelly there? No, this story is not over yet. Keep reviewing, please! Woot, Chapter 10! Hooray! 20 reviews! I love y'all for sticking with me through ten chappys. This is rather an interesting chapter - I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!_

I was stone.

Silence surrounded me. I was silence. Nothingness was everything. Grey was my vision, cold stone my only sense of touch, and a vague sense of touch.

A stone is ageless. A stone has no sense of time. I was frozen, frozen in a moment, alone with my thoughts. There was nothing but myself, frozen. My thoughts were sluggish, the pace of the crumbling of stone.

_What have I done? What has happened to me? How can I escape?_

But there is no escape for a stone. As the days passed, I lost all thought of time. Time does not move for a stone. Or, if it moves, it moves at the pace of glaciers. Time was as frozen as Narnia itself. The winter in which I was frozen would have no spring. There would be no release until I crumbled into dust.

Would there be pain? Would I suffer when my stone faded into the ages of the world, or would it just be a peaceful, easy passing into eternity?

A stone feels nothing. There is only cold, always cold, around and above and inside you. My heart was stone. It would have been heavy if I had not had any sense of weight. I thought of Ishtar. Where was she now? What was she thinking? What was she feeling? But in time, those thoughts faded. A stone feels nothing.

I was stone.

All thought faded, eventually. There was no thought, no time, no pain, no regret. Only fragments of memory, of speech.

_Your whim before –_

_-help me, my –_

_Love me, be-_

_-stone forever._

_Your whim before help me my love me be stone forever. _

_Whim help love stone forever._

_Help stone forever._

_Stone forever. _

_Forever._

Finally, all thought faded. A stone has no name. I had no name. I was nothing. I was lost. Memory was lost. Thought faded into distance. A stone does not need to think. A stone thinks at the pace of glaciers, and I could not read my thought any longer.

_You should die-_

_-betrayal is the ultimate crime-_

_The penalty of-_

_Love-_

_Is Death._

_Should betrayal ultimate penalty love is death._

_Betrayal penalty love is death._

_Penalty love is death._

_Love is death._

_Death._

_Loss._

_Name._

I was stone.

Stone. The Witch. Aslan. Words had no meaning. A stone has no speech. A stone cannot talk. A stone cannot remember. A stone cannot regret.

What had I done? I had killed Ishtar. My brother.

I had had a brother?

No, that could not be right. I had no brother.

Stones did not have brothers.

I was stone.

Who was Ishtar?

Ishtar.

The she wolf.

She had no name.

I forgot everything that had mattered to me. The only thought of stone is to cold. Cold is all that exists for a stone. And there was cold. Everywhere. This winter would never end. I needed to eat. I needed food.

No, stones did not eat.

What was food?

Food.

There was no memory to connect with the word.

Then there was no word.

I was stone.

I was stone.

Stone.

* * *

There was no thought for a long time. No thought, no movement, no life. Nothing but stone. But then, I heard a voice. It called me back, reminded me of sunshine and a spring, a spring I could not remember. Then warmth. Warmth cutting through my cold. It was a strange feeling. It made me want to remember, to move, to live.

The part of me that was stone struggled to hold on to the coldness. But the part that was coming back to live would not be stone struggled toward the life that beckoned me. I would live. I would survive. I had to.

I struggled back toward life. The cries beckoned me. I would live. I would live.

Live.


	11. In Which the Witch's Spell is Broken

_A/N: I LOVE YOU ALL! Nearly thirty reviews, and here I am at Chapter 11. I feel like I'm nearing the end of this story…but I'm not through with you yet! Keep those reviews coming, and here you are:_

I was swimming up through the blackness, struggling to rise from the tar pit of my nightmares. Then, all at once, sensation returned to me. Living sensation, not that of stone. My eyes would not open, but I could smell the fresh scent of rain, the smell of flowers and of wet fur and a strange scent that I could not have identified. Then I was aware of warmth. I was still dreadfully cold, but I could sense warmth and humidity all around me. I realized that I had not been warm in a terribly long time. It had been so long. Such a long winter.

Then I was able to move, and my legs wobbled with the sudden weight they had to support. My eyes opened for the first time in such a long time. They blinked, and I was stunned by the amount of light around me. I blinked a couple more times to adjust my eyes to the sudden light.

The first thing I noticed was that there was no snow, anywhere. It was such a strange sight that I sat down, stunned. I could not remember a time when there had been no snow. There had been something called spring, once, but I could not remember it. So many things I could not remember, so many faces I could not put a name to…my name. What was my name? I searched for it, and found…nothing. Emptiness. I was nothing. I was no one.

Despair threatened to strike me down, but I pushed it away. I was alive. That was enough. Would have to be enough. I would find a new name. I would make a new life.

The next thing I became aware of was the noise. The noise! I had not heard noise in the Witch's castle for such a long time. It had always been silent, silent as death. Silent as stone. But now there were barks and howls and yelps and whinnies of delight everywhere, and animals capering all around my. I saw fauns and wolves weeping with joy, touching their living fur. My eyes saw a large gray wolf that I recognized as Vestal. His eyes were piercingly fierce, and he was talking to…

A lion. No, not a lion, _the _lion. The Great Lion. It was Aslan. He had to be. There was no mistaking him. He had such an air of majesty that it would have been impossible to call him just any lion. He had to be Aslan, because no other creature could be so powerful and terrible but at once gentle and playful. I felt humbled, ashamed, just looking at him. He seemed to feel my gaze, and he looked at me. His eyes were golden, bright golden. His gaze was neutral, perhaps even affectionate as he looked me over, but I had the feeling that he knew who I was, what I had done. Everything. I lowered my eyes and my tail and turned away.

I looked around me again. There seemed to be more animals than I could remember when they had been frozen in stone. But then my eyes fell upon one wolf in the quivering, capering throng. She was speaking to a small white wolf that was cowering fearfully. I could not mistake her. Instantly I pushed forward, hurrying toward her. Ishtar. "Ishtar!" I called. She looked up. Her eyes met mine.

Then they went very flat. She said a few last words to the wolf at her side and then pushed her gently away with her nose. The she wolf, my brother's mate, looked at me fearfully and hurried away. Ishtar turned to face me, squaring off as though for a battle. Her eyes were flat, but her scent was furious.

"How could you," she hissed even as I opened my mouth. "You betrayed me. You betrayed everything! And now, here you are, masquerading as one of us against the White Witch? When you killed your own brother? Oh, I get news. Grael told me, as soon as Aslan freed him. You're probably here on the witch's orders. You're nothing but a rotten traitor, Fenris. I can't believe I ever thought I loved you."

"That's not my name anymore," I said sadly.

"What is it, then?" Ishtar snapped, her ears laid back.

"Nothing. I don't have a name. The Witch stripped me of it when I was caught in a rebellion. Grael didn't tell you that, did he? That was why I am here. I was a fool, Ishtar. I was under the Witch's spell. That's all. Can't you forgive me?"

Ishtar glared daggers at me, but she looked surprised. "Never," she snarled. "I can't forgive you for betraying our cause, for betraying my love. I can never forgive you, Fenris, or whatever your name is. I will hate you forever, even unto death." She wheeled and loped away, and soon she was lost to the crowd.

I looked after her for several moments, feeling a keen ache in my chest. But she was lost. I could not mourn. I had no time. Then I heard a deep, resonant voice echoing behind me, and I wheeled to find myself facing Him. The Great Lion. Aslan.

"I need to speak with you," he said. "Follow me."

I trotted after him. I had no choice, but fear thrummed in my pounding heart. What would happen to me now? Would he be angry? Would he kill me? I did not want to die, not yet. I was not ready yet. "What is it, Your Majesty?" I asked fearfully after we stopped under an old, rotting tree just outside the graveyard.

He watched me. His gaze was quite disconcerting. "Actually, I had the feeling that you wanted to speak to me. I could ask you the same question."

I looked down. "I am ashamed," I said at last. "Ashamed of myself. I did so much wrong, hurt so many wolves and people out of anger or a desire to be more powerful. I served the Witch partly because of her spell, but it was not all her. It was me, too. Me. I wanted to be stronger. I was stupid. I killed my brother."

Aslan was silent for a long time. I did not dare to look at him. At last he spoke. "You have done wrong," he said in his resonant voice, like a judge condemning a prisoner. "I will not deny it. But you have begun to repair the damage you have made. It may never be fully repaired, but you can make a beginning. There will be fighting today, and a chance to prove yourself loyal. But do not die for my sake or in an attempt to rid yourself of guilt. I will forgive you, and others will forget. All that is left is to forgive yourself."

I nodded slowly. It felt like forgiveness. But I did not think that the last was possible. I could never forgive myself for everything I had done. "My name, my lord – what will I call myself? I am not Fenris, nor am I Rakashan. I am nameless."

"You must find a name for yourself," Aslan told me sternly. "Until then, you will not have one. You will find a new name, a new life. You will make a new start. But for now, there is fighting to do." He padded away from me, already calling the group together. I felt a deep feeling of despair. How many would die today? Would I ever get the chance to start a new life?

In the future, if they speak of me, it will only be of my evil, of how I served the witch to evil ends. They will not remember Rakashan. But perhaps, if I work hard enough, they will remember my new name. Perhaps, someday, I will be able to listen to those tales of Fenris Ulf and laugh. But that day will be many years away. Many years until I can leave him behind forever. Many years until I can make myself believe that he is no part of me.

Because he is a part of me still.


	12. In Which There is Battle

_A/N: Another chapter. This is…chapter…12…okay. Sorry for the long wait, but here tis! I am still alive over here. And not owning C.S. Lewis, or anything else belonging to his esteemed person, including characters, settings, and wild paragraphs of Tarot Hill. _

When I snapped out of my reverie, Aslan was gathering the animals around him and explaining the battle plan. He didn't seem irritated, but I got the impression that he had had to repeat himself several times to get through to the fawning animals around him. I watched them, half-enviously. I could see Ishtar, and beside her my brother's mate. She did not look at me, but I could almost hear her words again. _Never. I will never forgive you. _Would she find a mate? A wolf to smile at, to run with and play with for the rest of her life?

I clenched my teeth together. I would not mourn her. I had to leave her behind. The past was gone, and all there was to look at was the future. I held back the tears, but they were there, but not simply for the loss of Ishtar, but for the loss of everything that I had thrown away so eagerly for lies and a life of power that did not exist. Had I known that she was evil? Had I guessed? No, the truth was. I had not guessed. I had not even suspected. I had rushed headlong into an opportunity to be first without heed, like the stupid fool I was. There was only me to blame for destroying my life.

I blinked the tears away and forced myself to listen to Aslan. He was instructing us to search for the scent of the sledge that the witch had taken from here to the battle – as that had certainly been where we would be needed. I used my nose with the rest of the dogs and wolves, but nothing was found until a bloodhound near the front bayed loudly and loped off at a swift run. The rest of us followed as fast as we could, the rodents and small mammals perched on the backs of larger animals.

The trail led swift and straight across the grassy landscape that had replaced the familiar snow. I was much too warm, my winter coat itching and shedding in clumps in the sudden heat. Flowers were sprouting under my paws, crocuses and wild irises, and the trees were suddenly a vibrant and unfamiliar green. I had never seen so much color in such a long time. All the other animals were looking about as well, amazed, but Aslan was focused and intent, and we all sensed his desperation to reach the battle. Perhaps he feared the outcome if we did not come soon enough.

At last Aslan halted. He was looking over a precipice, his eyes colder than I had ever seen them. The battlefield spread out before us, a scene of wreckage. There were stone statues spotted over the field, but they were fewer than I would have expected. The Witch was battling furiously with a young man whose face was set grimly in a frown. I did not know him. Humans were half legendary to me.

It was only then, as I looked at the army behind me, that I realized how small and pitiful it really was. How could we possibly defeat the Witch, with all her powers and deceptions? How did we know this was not some trap? My heart quailed, and something in me longed to run to her, to beg forgiveness and fight for her. After all, it had to be her that won.

But it was only a last attempt of the Witch, and I remembered Aslan and looked forward at the Lion. For all her power, she would not have a chance. Despite myself, I suddenly felt pity for the White Witch. She could never hold back Aslan, not this cold, mighty lion full of terrible power. She was weak beside him. Her armies were doomed. Aslan roared and plunged down. Bloodlust rose in me, fierce longing for the kill that presaged a hunt. I suppressed it, suddenly afraid. I could not face the attack. The face of the enemies suddenly took on my brother's scent and face, his sightless eyes accusing from a dead, blood-streaked face. I wheeled away, running blindly from the battle. I could not fight.

I found a stone and hid there, curled up as small as I could, trembling and whimpering with fear and guilt. I was a coward, a murderer, a traitor. I called on every foul word I could think of to describe myself as I listened to the sounds of the battle, too close. I was afraid to face Aslan. Perhaps I could slip away. Perhaps I could find a land so far away that no one knew of Aslan, or the Witch, or Fauns. But I would never be able to face myself. I could not leave Narnia. I could not stay here. I was trapped.

What if I lost control again? What if I killed again, as I had killed my own brother? I could not have friends or a mate – not when this rage threatened to take over me at any moment. I was a danger to everyone around me. I had to run away, far away. I should die. I should jump into the river and let it carry me away to the sea, to the end of the world. But I was not brave enough even for that.

The battle was short. I heard the shouts and howls of joyous celebration, and every so often the low rumble of Aslan's voice. Had he noticed that I was gone? Had Ishtar? She would not care. She was probably glad I was gone. She would not care if I suffered. I lay there until dark and silence fell, afraid. At last, it was Ishtar that brought me out. She would not know how she had crumbled my life. She would never know. I would be brave. I would be strong.

I wanted to die.

I reached the area where the fires were still burning and skulked on the edge. There were still some figures sitting up, talking quietly. As the fire blazed higher when one of them poked it, I realized that they were Fauns, with their foul, furred legs and unnatural hooves below the body of a man.

My lip curled automatically, and my hackles rose. I suppressed an urge to attack. The killers of my kind – the murderers of my pack. They were so close. Now that I knew they were there, I could pick out their acrid scent amid the mixture of smells. I growled, low and soft. But it was not quiet enough. The head of one of them snapped around, a red scarf twined around his neck. "Who's there?" he asked, and I was pleased to hear a note of fear in his voice. Let him be afraid!

But one of them had seen me. "Look, a wolf!" he hissed to his companions. "Don't let it get away!" My eyes gleamed as they stood up, my teeth bared. I would fight. I would die, but I would be with my packmates, my brother. Perhaps. If nothing else, it would be an end.

I realized dimly that one of them was not a Faun. I crouched at bay as steel hissed out of a sheath, snarling. I did not run. The sword raised to strike. Pain swallowed everything as I howled, the world crumpling around me as I dove for the nearest throat I saw. Black closed in. Surely this was death, an end at last.


	13. In Which There Are Beginnings

_A/N: Last chapter will be lucky number thirteen? Truth be told, I don't know. Yay! Thirty reviews! Keep going – maybe I can reach 50? Heh. I'm a bit of a review whore. Sorry._

_By the way, loads of love to all my consistent fans. I love all y'all. Love, love love. Anyway. Chapter thirteen._

My eyes were closed. I felt pain. Was that right? Death was supposed to take away your pain, but I definitely was not painless. Also, my body felt uncomfortably heavy. I tried to get up, and sent a jolt of pain shooting down my spine. I let myself down again with a small whine. I couldn't move. I lay down again and curled up, closing my eyes. Waiting for death.

I slept for a long time, and awoke in a haze of heat and fever. Sensation and thought was distant. Water. I needed water. I tried to get up again and met with a screech of protesting, cramped muscles. There was a long gash along my side. Blood leaked from it. I licked it, hoping that it would give me some moisture. It was salty and dried my mouth. I saw a puddle of water just out of reach, and managed to crawl to it, agonizingly. Too tired to drink much, I lapped it a little and let my head fall into the shallow, muddy pool. I slept again.

I wasn't dead, that much was clear. And much as I wished I was, I was living on instinct, my thought burned away by fever. I had attacked the Fauns. Why had they not killed me? Had they intended me to suffer before dying, helpless, motionless, dead of hunger? I hardly even cared. I would have welcomed death at that moment. But there was part of me that did not want to die.

I could not tell you how long I lay there, suffering, crawling for short distances to find pockets of water. My stomach ached, and I ate grass to soothe it, but it did not help. There was nothing to soothe the savage ache within me. I waited for an end that would not come.

My days blended together in a haze of nightmares and fever and pain. There was nothing to distinguish one day from the next. But then came a change. I woke, and there was sound. Voices. Whispers. I struggled to raise my head, my eyes swollen with the bites of flies, the gash on my side infected and festering. I could not move, but then a small eye looked into mine – an eye surrounded by thick gray fur. I startled and tried to crawl away.

"Easy," said a voice. "Don't hurt yourself. We're here to help."

"Daddy, can we take him back to the den and take care of him?" whined a small voice, that of a female cub. Something ached at my heart in that voice. My dreams were shattered. "I'm hot, and he looks like he's hurt bad. Mommy will be able to help him."

"Come on, we'll help you up," said the deeper voice, nudging my shoulder gently. "I shook my head and struggled to speak.

"You don't want me," I said. "I'm bad…bad luck. I've done terrible things…you don't want me as part of your pack,"

"Nonsense," said the deeper voice. "If you can't move, I'll carry you. I'm not going to let you die."

"You're not bad," piped in the high voice. "People are bad. People killed my sister, and they hurt you, too. What's your name, anyway?"

"I don't remember," I whispered. "I don't have a name."

"I'll call you Yigil," said the pup. "Mama says it means "redeemed." And you're not bad. You can't be, because Mama says…"

As unconsciousness threatened to take me again when the larger wolf lifted my scrawny form onto his back, I struggled to hear the pup's last words. "Mama says that no one is evil," she said. "No one is evil. But my name," she said proudly, "is Darcie Destineé, or just Darcie."

Darcie Destineé. Dark Fate. The irony did not escape me. I laughed, harshly, bitterly. It seemed that I would survive after all. It seemed that I was a survivor, no matter how much I wanted to die. I would not escape my guilt just yet.

_No one is evil_, I thought, and laughed.

END.


End file.
